


The Best Laid Plans

by Zilchtastic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Sexual Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilchtastic/pseuds/Zilchtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"C'mon," Sera says, without preamble. "We're going up to the parapets to drop melons on people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I needed to write some fic with Sera in it, because pranks at Skyhold are the best.

"C'mon," Sera says, without preamble. "We're going up to the parapets to drop melons on people."

Cole is trailing along behind like a stray puppy, expression vague. He's carrying an absurd number of melons; their overripe smell is strong and sickly-sweet.

"You're going along with this?" Lavellan says to him, disbelievingly.

He tries to shrug; his armload shifts dangerously. "It seems to make her happy."

Sera makes an impatient sound, like she wants to spit. "It's fine, innit? We're only dropping them on the contingent from Orlais. They need a distraction, yeah?"

"Sera--"

"Just _come on_ ," Sera insists, pulling her by the arm. "Wet splatty things make everythin' better. Well, not for them so much as us, maybe. Still. Wet splatty things."

The Inquisitor is half-dragged up to the wall overlooking the Skyhold courtyard. True to Sera's word, a delegation of Orlesians have congregated there, all feathery and fine and, Lavellan must admit, ripe for the picking. _They'll all squawk like startled chickens_ , she thinks, and next to her Cole huffs something that might almost be a laugh.

"We can't do this," Lavellan says, but she's fighting back a laugh of her own.

"Says you. I can do it just fine." Sera carefully selects the biggest, rottenest melon from the bunch. "Bunch of prancing stuffed-shirts and stiff-arses. Could use a little excitement."

One of the Orlesians, a wide, heavy man in an absurd purple velvet cape and a feathered mask, appears to be reading poetry to the others. Even with masks on, the other nobles look supremely bored.

"Going on, and on, forever," Cole murmurs. "They're restless, he's relentless. No end in sight. Wish it would rain, so we could go to our chambers."

"See?" Sera squints down at the courtyard. "We'll be doin' 'em a favor, right. Give 'em a reason to go take baths at least. Might wash some of the noble stink off."

The Inquisitor sighs. "If anyone catches you--"

"'Us'."

"If anyone catches _us_ , there'll be hell to pay from Josephine. And Leliana. And Cullen."

"Then I guess we don't get caught, yeah?" Sera lines up her first shot. "Grab a melon. Get ready to duck."

The first rain of melons has the Orlesians screeching and scattering like frightened sheep; only the 'poet' remains, slow to catch on over the sound of his own oration. The Inquisitor's melon bursts open over the back of his head like an explosion of pale orange. The smell is really quite strong, even from so high up.

Sera is cackling as guards race to the scene. "Whoops. Time to hit it. Run!"

They run.

***

"--and the Orlesians have lodged a formal complaint about the, ah, _attack_ this afternoon," Josephine was saying, her fine features composed into a most elegant frown. "I don't suppose you'd know anything about this incident, my lady Inquisitor?"

All eyes turn to Lavellan who, despite bathing, still bore the strong odor of overripe melons quite obviously about her person.

"I-- No?" She says, hopefully.

"Josie, I'm _sure_ our beloved Inquisitor would _never_ be involved in such a prank," Leliana says, but she sounds like she's laughing just underneath.

"Indeed." Josephine is still glaring.

"I'm more concerned about the cleanup," Cullen says. "The courtyard is now absolutely _filled_ with birds who are feasting on the remains."

The Inquisitor thinks of Cole. _I bet he was feeding the birds all along._ "I'll, ah, have some of the trainees help, shall I?"

"Excellent idea, Inquisitor," Cullen says, and his praise sounds like an iron trap clanging shut. "As an exercise in morale, why don't you go down and help them out? Just imagine their delight."

Lavellan sighs dramatically. _Unfair. Totally unfair._ "Yes, Commander, that sounds like an... excellent idea."

Cullen smirks. "I'll fetch you a shovel."

***

Later, in the Herald's Rest, Sera claps her on the shoulder and shoves some noxious-smelling drink under her nose. "One for the bossy-boss, who looks like she needs it!"

"Yes, well, I had to help shovel rotten melons into sacks for the whole afternoon," the Inquisitor says, eyeing her balefully as she takes the tin mug from her grasp. "Because _someone_ got the great idea to bomb the Orlesian delegation."

Sera laughs, smacking the bar with both palms. "Did you see their faces? Did you? Like we'd dropped dead cats on them instead of melons. Grand!"

"Sera--"

"Oh, piss on it. You got to play with the recruits and now they're all saying how great it was, the Inquisitor helping out little fish like them. Everythin' worked out for the best. Drink your drink."

The Inquisitor takes a quick swallow; it burns like an Antivan fire grenade going down. "Urk! What _is_ this stuff?"

"Dunno. Iron Bull's suggestion. Said it'd take the edge off, and you're definitely all edges, right? So drink."

Iron Bull salutes with his own mug from the corner. Lavellan makes a face but takes another deliberate drink. She can see the Chargers laugh.

"Right, so, what next? I figure we change around some of the books in Josie's study so they're out of alphabetical order." Sera giggles. "Miss Prim'll be in a tizzy all week."

"After we already dumped a bucket of water on her head, just two weeks ago? Not. Even. Going."

"Aww, no fun, no fun!" Sera swats her playfully on the ass, making her yelp. Lavellan can see the bartender's shit-eating grin from here.

"Sera, sometimes you're too much," she says.

"Better than never enough, I figure." Sera downs the rest of her own drink and then slams the mug down on the rough wooden counter. "Another! Keep 'em coming, then!"

"You're in a mood," Lavellan says. She sips at her drink; it still tastes like burning, with something like cinnamon and black pepper underneath.

"Ain't I? Now c'mon, we're playing Wicked Grace with the Chargers. Bring your purse? No? S'fine, we can bet your clothes. Maybe your knives?"

" _Sera!_ "

"What? You've got like, seven. Oh, the clothes you mean? Made a bet with Bull. Said I could get you out of your clothes, yeah? So I figure, cards. Never said _how_ I'd do it."

"I can't _believe_ you," Lavellan says, but she allows herself to be dragged to the back tables where the Chargers are setting up. Krem tosses them a small half-smile. "Inquisitor." He inclines his head minimally. "Heard you'd be joining us?"

"Against my better judgment. I'm not exactly proficient yet."

"No worries, boss. Promise, we'll only strip you down to your boots."

Lavellan rolls her eyes. "You _people._ "

"People, exactly." Sera pats the chair next to herself. "People's what you need, innit? Little people, not big Orlesian muckity-mucks reciting shite poetry. By the way, heard he had to cancel his recital for the Inquisitor. Something about melons..."

The Inquisitor can't help but laugh. The rest of the Chargers assemble around the table, in various states of drunk and ready to play cards. 

Dalish straddles a chair backwards, her deft hands cutting and shuffling the deck over and over. "Fereldan rules, no take-backs. Everyone ready?"

The game begins.

***

The drinks flow like water from a stream, bought by unseen coin and brought by grinning tavern girls who coo over the growing pile of gold in front of Krem.

"Beginner's luck!" Sera tells him. "I'm going all in!"

"Sure you want to do that? This is the last hand."

"In for a penny, in for Lavelly's shirt! Who don't wanna see tits today, eh?"

The thankfully still-clothed Inquisitor glares. "You are _not_ getting my shirt, or anything else. Play the hand."

Sera loses painfully. The Inquisitor sighs, relieved.

"Eh, next time." Sera shrugs. "Money's money, tits are tits. Thought you'd at least be drunk enough to flash 'em by now."

"I am not showing my--" Lavellan swallows, and starts again. "I'm not flashing _anything_ in a tavern full of people I'm supposed to be in charge of."

"You could come upstairs and flash 'em to me there," Sera grins.

Lavellan blushes so hard her ear-tips go pink. "Sera--"

"I know, I know. So flash 'em at Bull, or the Commander, or somebody." She giggles rudely. "Baldy, maybe. Oh, imagine his face, just! Bet he'd turn all kinds of red."

Lavellan gets a mental image: herself, brandishing her breasts at a startled and appalled Solas, who shields his eyes like he's staring into the sun. "That is not happening."

"Pity. I'd watch that." Sera elbows her companionably. "You could use a good snog, and more than that. Takes the edges off better than anything!"

"My edges are rounded enough for one night." Inquisitor Lavellan pushes back from the table. "I should call it a night."

"It was fun, boss," Krem says, still counting his pile. "Come back and lose your money to us anytime."

He says it like he means it, though, despite his teasing. The Inquisitor smiles.

"I wouldn't mind playing again sometime. Thanks for the game."

She passes Bull on her way out. "She's right, you know," he says, voice pitched low.

"About?"

"Taking the edge off. It helps."

The Inquisitor raises an eyebrow. "Are you offering, Bull?"

"I'm here anytime you decide you want your cork popped, Boss." He grins, lazy and confident.

She can feel the blush creeping down her neck. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do. But if you'd rather stick to practicing your knives in the courtyard, I'm up for that too."

She smiles, then, sincerely. "I appreciate it, Bull."

He waves a hand. "Later, Boss."

It's dark as she steps out of the tavern; the wind has risen, and it swirls scents of campfires and old cooking and very faintly, melons. Lavellan smiles.

Today was a pretty good day.


End file.
